Fire Griffin's Megaman Legends Drabbles
by Fire Griffin
Summary: (Megaman Legends - Rockman DASH) An ever-growing collection of my short, strange writings and such that did not merit their own entries.
1. Foreward and Lunch Hour

**_A foreword..._**

I would have placed this separately from the drabble below but since I need to play my hands more carefully nowadays, it would be in your interest to **read this first if you happen to NOT know what a drabble is**. If you do know, skim over to the happy little line some ways below. There should be a drabble nestled down there waiting for you.

**_A drabble is:_**  
A drabble is essentially a fanfiction snippet with no real plot or such. They usually resolve around a theme and relate to that theme in any way possible. It could be through a moment in time, a random reflection, a quick study of a character; you name it. They're just spurs of the moment, a random brainfart that had no place in your longer pieces. They're perfect for when you have that itch to write but don't really want to pound out and devote yourself to a full-length, unfinished work in search of a conclusion. They also do not take long to write and anyone can do it - you could think of them as exercises of sorts, a way to refine your writing before you tackle something larger. All you need is creativity.

They're easier to pull off than Nanowrimo. Trust me. (Won my first one, for your random information. X3)

Back on subject, you can sum up a drabble as a short piece centered around a theme. This is a collection of Megaman Legends/Rockman DASH drabbles and really really short stories that did not merit their own seperate story entries. These stories are independent unless otherwise noted, completely unrelated to each other. There is **no **"CONTINUE THIS;" these are ideas from the drabble theme and have little to no chance of being fleshed out into a full-length story. Who knows though. Call this little stash a bundle of inspiration.

Most of these have been written at the Drabble topic of the Megaman Legends Station forum, so a good chunk of the themes are not mine. Those I have written on my own outside of the theme will be noted.

No, there are no other Megaman series here. This is strictly Legends and its related games such as The Misadventures of Tron Bonne and Legend's sequel. If you want Classic, X or something like that, go somewhere else or wait until I become interested enough in those series to drabble for them. If you dislike Legends, then here's mud in your eye. I, Fire "Your Almighty Someone-Something That Writes Long Forwards" Griffin, am only catering to the underdog of the Rockman Empire. Nyeh. Pbbt.

Also, for your ease, I made a form that proceeds each drabble/short. Since I cannot make a table on contents and I am afraid of stretching this thing any more, here's the rundown: 

**Fandom**: _(We're mostly dealing with Legends so the most use I can make of this thing is state which game era the drabble takes place in.)_  
**Title**:_ (90 of the time, I have a name in mind.)_  
**Theme**: _(Uh, the theme?)_  
**Wordcount**: _(The limit I've set at the forum's topic was about 300. I develop some kind of curse later on and keep on making these short stories. Gah.)_  
**Pairing**: _(If there is anything mushy?)_  
**Characters**: _(Yeah, you're probably going to be just like me and only read stuff with your favorite characters in it. Admit it.)_  
**Rating**: _(Probably will only go up to PG-13 since I want to add this to my almighty Rockman DASH fiction C2 community dealie.)_  
**Notes**: _(Anything additional I feel like adding, mostly inspirations and the like. Any angst warnings and weirdo things to be wary of will be thrown here too, you will find I am... kind of out "there.")_

There, we should be covered and ready to go.

Finally, if something here, for some reason, happens to be against Fanfiction- dot -Net's guidelines, **I would rather you tell me in a review/E-MAIL me about it before resorting to the abuse report form**. You know, out of politeness as I do the same to everyone else. I listen. Should problems occur, I am quite able to correct them. I have been on here for years and I would like to keep my account. Thank you.

_** And now we begin!**_

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**Fandom: **Megaman Legends  
**Title: **Lunch Hour  
**Subject: **Stripe Burger  
**Wordcount: **Exactly 300, believe it or not!  
**Pairing: **N/A  
**Characters: **The Servbots  
**Rating: **PG, one mention of "damn"  
**Notes: **Nothing too special. Just one moment in the life of working in the fast food industry with the servbots.

* * *

"Where's my order?" The sharp, hollow sound of a tightly balled fist slamming down on a countertop mangled the impatient words. 

"W-we're having problems, s-sir," the robotic cashier, Number Eighteen, stuttered. It was hard trying to look up into the customer's angry, red face as he could hardly see past the ledge of the counter. The stool was for the cash register only, even though the idea of that serving as a barrier between him and the man sounded as good as an idea as any.

The man furiously jabbed his finger towards his watch. "Hurry it up! I have to be back at work at one! If I go back there late, I'm never coming here again! I'll sue!"

"But Sue is a girl's name," mumbled Number Eighteen, oblivious to the swarm of people, each just as disgruntled as the man, swelling around the counter. "Number Twelve, I think we should open another register. Hey, Number Twelve?"

Number Twelve was fast asleep under the counter.

"Order Three-Twenty-Eight!" chimed Number Twenty-Six, bursting in from the kitchen with a tray full of bags. "Your food is ready!"

Number Eighteen rescued the tray from the other servbot as he expectantly tripped and fell on his face. The tray was passed to the grouchy man, who left with a huff and an "about damn time!"

Before Twenty-Six could pick himself up off the floor, the man had shouldered his way through the mob and was back again. And madder than ever at that.

"You gave me nothing but wrappers and boxes!" he roared.

"But, but," the cashier whimpered, on the verge of tears. He glanced towards Number Twenty-Six, who shrugged.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Number Three, who was in charge of packaging the food, belched. It was only one little bite, or two.

_** Fin**_


	2. Have a Nice Day

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****Fandom**: Megaman Legends 2  
**Title**: Have a Nice Day  
**Subject**: Enter the Mail Clerk  
**Wordcount**: 314  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Some mailman and your typical Sephiroth clone thing.  
**Rating**: PG  
**Notes**: I wrote this in "honor" of some kid at the Legends roleplaying thread who wanted to inject his tall, shady character of killer doom, and his writing at the time was really bad too. As of now, I am out of the roleplay for the sake of my sanity. I had to advance the plot and teacher the hell out of him not to control my characters. I was VERY CLOSE to snapping. 

I'm sorry. In other words, there is a lack of canon Legends characters here. Try the next one.

* * *

The old, crabby Yosyonke mail clerk shuffled away, trying to sort out his letters the best he could. It was hard, considering that some of these young whippersnappers wrote like drugged-up hens. He hated his shift, really. Not to mention the weather; he hated the cold too. Today's weather had been particularly rough, the winds picking up and the snow pouring down. 

Just then, the door to the post office swung open. Wide open. Enough for the withered, old clerk to feel the chilly air rush around him and blow all of his sorted and unsorted mail all over the place. Damn him.

"I've come for your doom," the figure in the doorway breathed, looking as ominous as he could be with his long coat whipping about in the wind.

"Fine, whatever. Just shut the damn door, you little snot." The clerk was scrambling about, trying to pick up the letters now scattered here and there. His bitterness was not misplaced.

The figure walked over to the desk, his heavy boots clunking on the floor, his gait slow and screaming of gothic impending bloody-death-and-doom.

The clerk was not daunted. "May I help you?"

"Yes," the figure continued to breathe, obscured in shadows for some reason despite the blindingly bright, new fluorescent lighting. He raised a long sword from out of nowhere, aiming it at the clerk's throat.

The clerk snorted and with great skill, threw an envelope with such precision and accuracy that only a master of his caliber could rival right into the mysterious stranger's forehead, killing him instantly. His body made a nice thump as it hit the floor, still obscured in shadows.

"My shift's done," he grumped, finishing his task with gathering up the misplaced letters and leaving them on the desk for some other guy on the next shift. "Good thing that was only the junk mail. Who needs it?"

_**Fin**_


	3. Whinge Whinge

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**Fandom**: Megaman Legends 2  
**Title**: Whinge, Whinge  
**Subject**: Turning into a Monster (lets out obligatory "RAR!")  
**Wordcount**: 900-something. This is a short rather than a drabble.  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Roll, Tron  
**Rating**: PG, for a nasty derrogatory female-based remark or two.  
**Notes**: My first strange story. It was Halloween when I wrote this, as suggested by the theme, so I had to do something odd. Battle Network apparently has "nekos" (cough cats cough). Legends has dogs. 

_Bleeeeeehghk. _

This was before my BS-y Legends dating calendar system thing I am still developing (which shall be used in an original work of mine in some strange, distant future so it's far from a waste of my time)

* * *

The gang had retired for the night in the Flutter after another day of unsuccessfully trying to build a rocket that would hopefully travel far enough to get Megaman down from wherever he was. The night was cool but the inside of the tiny airship was hot and stuffy like a sauna, everyone scrambling for a place to sleep, if they could move around anyway. The couches were filled, Megaman's bedroom taken over by several servbots with poor Data (who was also fending for his cactus), and those that could not nab even a spot on the floor were forced to camp outside. To make things more chaotic was the long, heated debate regarding the at-first innocent suggestion of Roll and Tron sleeping in the same room, her bedroom no doubt. 

It was not a terrible suggestion, both Barrel and Teisel figured. They were simply girls, right?

"You better not kick me," Tron snorted with her arms crossed, sitting on one corner of the bed in a long nightshirt. "And this bed is hard. How do you guys sleep in these things? And when was the last time you changed these sheets? From here, they stink."

Roll, who was sitting on the other corner brushing her hair, snorted indignantly, wondering how Teisel was able to tolerate this upper-class pirate brat. "_Just deal with it! _You can camp outside if you don't like it!"

"With the bugs and worms and snakes and diseases?" Tron wrinkled her nose. "_**Ew!**_ What do I look like, some kind of filthy _animal?_"

The other girl rolled her eyes;_ she was impossible! _It was not her fault that she did not grow up pampered and spoiled.

Sigh.

Setting down her brush and roughly combing her fingers through her soft, blond hair, she hotly stormed over to her desk to write in her diary. Tron watched, silent for once. She looked uncomfortable.

"Roll," she finally said, her voice soft.

"What now, Tron? You think there're rocks in my bed too?"

"No. Do you have a calendar?" There was a strange, husky edge to her voice now, like she had been gargling with razor blades.

Roll rose an eyebrow, finding the request a bit odd. "There's one on the wall. Are you okay? You don't sound right."

The pirate made an attempt to clear her voice, slowly getting up and checking the date. She was pale. Very pale. "Uh, Roll? I have something I'd like to tell you. I don't have very long but..."

Roll turned around from today's entry, hardly done with grousing about how Tron was a pain and engine schematics. From her chair, she noticed that Tron now looked very bad, her eyes looking almost glazed over and, well, there was something... _else _there. She could not describe it.

"You know why we really dig?" Tron coughed, leaning against the wall.

Roll blinked. She clung to her chair as she leaned into to listen. Something told her not to rush to her aid, to keep away. "I guess it's not just for riches, huh? Are you catching something?"

"I already have something," she growled, almost sounding like a... dog? "And we're hoping that someday, somewhere we'll find something thaaaah... Ahhh..."

Tron lost her hold on the wall, her hand sliding against it as she collapsed to her knees. She dry heaved, Roll finally throwing aside her naggings and kneeling at her side, placing a hand on her back. What scared her even more was the fact that even with one hand, she could feel that her back was twisted and dislocated. Broken, maybe. But Tron seemed fine earlier! How...?

"Tron...?"

The girl shuddered, sweating and shaking and even drooling (which made Roll's long suppressed morbid side in the dark reaches of her mind snicker). Going over their conversation to hopefully find out the crux of this urgent problem, Roll peered up at the calendar. What was today again? Ah, there we go. She saw nothing special that day. Tomorrow had the full moon marked out and-

Roll almost laughed at the irony of this. Tron could not possibly be a... There was no possible way! They did not exist, did they? And _tomorrow_ was the full moon, not today! Why was she...?

Of course. The full moon really lasted three days, the "true" full moon being only the second night, and Tron was not enjoying this fact one bit. Her fingers curled back into her hands at a painful angle to form paws, her face lengthened into a large muzzle, a decent-sized, bald tail snaked out her backend and fell between her legs before furring out; Roll could only watch with wide eyes and back away. Her now-friendly rival was turning into a wolf right in front of her.

Then, finally, it was done.

Instead of launching herself at Roll, Tron flopped over, tangled in her oversized shirt-gone-tent, and did not move, those somber, humiliated green eyes looking pathetically up at Roll. Somewhat relieved that she was still in there, Roll quietly approached the slim timberwolf with caution (she was expecting a vicious, hairy-faced version of her, really). She had to admit, despite her conflicting bittersweet revenge for her acting like such a mean, oh, mean _bit__ch_ and horror: she was sort of pretty. What she could see of her stomach, legs and lower portion of her face were a nice creamy color and her back was a grizzled cinnamon.

"Are you okay?" Roll asked, knowing the question was a stupid one.

Tron groaned and flicked her ear, remaining on her side. She be damned if she was going to budge and be subjected to the cutesy-wootsy puppy talk.

Needless to say, Roll and Tron got along nicely with each other afterwards. Much better than even Data and his cactus perhaps. Blackmail worked wonders.

_**Fin**_


	4. Just a Test

  
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**Fandom**: Megaman Legends  
**Title**: Just a Test  
**Subject**: Megaman in Love  
**Wordcount**: About 300  
**Pairing**: Tron/Trigger, implied  
**Characters**: Mostly Tron, smidgen of Trigger  
**Rating**: G  
**Notes**: WAAAAAAANGST. WAAAAAAAAAANGST. Any affections and such afterwards are up to you, the viewer. Use you imagination for what happens next.

Honestly, I don't do romance. It's too mushy and I've never taken much of an interest in relationships in real life because I have other things to do. Enjoy what little these forum fiends have managed to squeeze out of me. Bwah!

* * *

She sat there on that bench, waiting. It was an almost stereotypical romance scene: the moon was out and full and the trees were tall and dark. Still, it worked for what was to come. 

_ If_ it did, for that matter.

Staring down at the small flowers that dotted the road, she could only wonder about him, about what he would bring. He looked like the sort that would be willing to give gifts, especially in apology for keeping her waiting.

_ Was_ he keeping her waiting? Their affection was considered forbidden, in a sense. It was a pseudo-classic scene: the knight falls for the villain and they lived happily ever after instead of him and the princess he was meant to save. She felt nothing for the princess.

But was _she_ the villain? Was surviving with their terrible luck the best they could without a real chance at an honest job considered villainy? It made her question. _Why?_

She counted the pebbles on the road. They shined in the moonlight. When will he come?

_One pebble, two pebble, three pebble…_

It was hard to count, considering all that there was between them, considering all that there was ahead. Her brother was passionate; he would _never_ let them be together should he have known, more or less hold hands or even make eye contact.

She recited physics theorems in her head. She drew up blueprints in her mind. She mentally exhausted herself over the creation of something massive, gargantuan, that would probably be used against him. And blown up. Why did she even bother?

It was all probably a test.

"Tron?"

Startled, she jerked up to find a silhouette standing before her, neatly framed by the moon. She was not afraid for long though; she knew that voice from anywhere.

"You're here," Tron smiled.

**_Fin_**


	5. Night

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**Fandom**: Megaman Legends  
**Title**: Night  
**Subject**: Megaman in Love  
**Wordcount**: About 300.  
**Pairing**: Roll/Trigger  
**Characters**: Roll, Trigger  
**Rating**: G  
**Notes**: Another one. This one is a bit happier than the Tron one in the last chapter and ends on a less open threaded note.

I still don't like writing romance all that much. Pleh.

* * *

Roll sat in her bed in her pajamas, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. She should have been working, should have been figuring out how to upgrade the machine gun to its fullest or concoct the formula for what could be her greatest weapon creation ever… 

… But she did not feel like it.

She remembered, although faintly, the baby in the ruins below and how he became the boy that was now running around in those same treacherous ruins, bringing back wealth and fortune and artifacts that she could never previously imagined. It was funny, naming him after her favorite game at the time. And he looked like the Megaman from those games too. Names had that effect on people, she supposed.

Where was Megaman now, anyway? He could have not gone wandering around out there on his own at this time of night. He always came back to the Flutter to have a little family time and sleep. Family time was hard though; there was nothing good on TV anymore and outside of digs, there was not much to be said.

Quietly, Roll tossed her pillow to her bed and tiptoed out into the hall, then the living room. It was dark and no one was there. The aquarium buzzed in the corner, the fish swimming idly about. She went to the deck.

There, upon being greeted by the cool night air (it was a bit breezy out, as the Flutter was grounded), she found Megaman leaning against the railing at the hull. He did not notice her.

Roll grinned. Just as silent as she was creeping out of her room, she crept to his side, clutching the railing, and leaned against him. They shared the moment until she was drifting away, even more so when Megaman swept her off her feet and took her back to her room, smiling, to bed.

_**Fin**_


	6. PPPPBBBBBBT!

  
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**Fandom**: Megaman Legends  
**Title**: PPPPBBBBBBT!  
**Subject**: Megaman in Love  
**Wordcount**: 373. Ooooops.  
**Pairing **: I don't want to mention it.  
**Characters**: Megaman, Roll, the rest of the Casketts and a special, amazing guest  
**Rating**: Extreme end of PG-13  
**Notes**: What a nice smoke that was! I knew I could not keep the sap up for so long with this theme! Probably one of the dumbest things I have ever written.

And it makes me smile.

* * *

The Casketts were having breakfast one day, perhaps pondering why their surnames were similar to what they called the containers for corpses, when Roll piped up with that burning hot question that was so hot, it almost lit the kitchen and a good chunk of the Legends fanbase on fire (which Data would have been blamed for it): 

"Megaman? Do you love me?"

Megaman's eyes sort of bulged out like a goldfish's as the incest bells and whistles and bombs exploded in his head. Barrel made armpit music in surprise and for lack of a more original response. Data danced. The pixilated picture of green sheep on the wall titled. The Flutter lurched.

Roll furrowed her brow. "Well, do you?"

"Is it _right_?" Megaman pursed his lips, partially expecting Roll to fling herself at his face like a facehugger would.

Roll remained, her face growing red as her clothes. "_You don't love me anymore!_"

Megaman was not allowed a chance to reply as she stomped off to her room, crying. He looked at Barrel, who was still giggling and making armpit noises to help alleviate some of the drama in the scene, and sighed.

Megaman turned to Data. "So now what?"

Data shrugged and kept on dancing. Some help he was.

Frowning, Megaman decided to confront Roll all by his lonesome. He knew it would be a dangerous task but if he could stop Megaman Juno and the Bonnes, why not female hormones?

Opening the door to her room, he could not hold in his surprise when he saw Roll undressing herself for Von Bleucher, who was somehow on her bed and grinning madly. Or was when he saw him.

"Why?" Megaman cried, squeezing the doorknob as if it was her hand.

"Because he has more money than you ever will give me for weapon upgrades! That's right! I _stole_ all your money! It's why I have been able to wear the same thing all the time and smell decent without doing all the laundry!" Roll flung her shirt at Megaman. "**_Now get out of here!_**"

"Well, that's all fine and dandy. But," Megaman blinked, the shirt crinkling to the floor once it bounced off his chest, "can I join in at least?"

**_Fin_**


	7. Wonderbra

  
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**Fandom**: The Misadventures of Tron Bonne  
**Title**: Wonderbra  
**Subject**: A Day in the Life of #40  
**Wordcount**: 550-something  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: The Servbots, a hint o' Tron  
**Rating**: PG, I guess. I said "boobie"  
**Notes**: I didn't do it.

My long drabble curse probably begins here.

* * *

Number Thirty-One threw up his arms in exasperation. "We need a new idea! Thirty-Two, how are things on your end?" 

Thirty-Two looked over his scribbles of dragons and flaming skulls and Miss Tron, frowning and perhaps scowling. "Nothing! Quit asking me!"

"Gah!" The servbot would have been tugging at his hair if he had had any. "How about you, Thirty-Three?"

Thirty-Three shrugged, rolling a bottle back and forth along the table, trying his best to make it look scientific.

Thirty-One made a face. "Okay, Thirty-Four. How about-?"

"I'm blank!" the servbot cried while balancing a large slab of metal. He lost his balance and fell over. "Oof!"

"Miss Tron is going to be so _mad!_" Thirty-One wailed, clutching at his head.

As if on cue, notorious Number Forty overhead the conversation in the Development Room as he cruised down the Gesellschaft's hallway. Today had been a particularly good day so why not help his fellow older brethren with his enlightened intellect and superior luck?

"Hello, guys!" he chimed in, poking his fat, yellow head into the room.

Thirty-One did not look impressed, as with the other servbots in the room. "Oh, great! You! How are you going to help us?"

Forty clung tightly to his precious prize. "Help you with what?"

"We need a new weapon, upgrade, _something_! We're desperate!"

The other servbots looked back around at each other. The room was silent before Thirty-Two leaned in, mumbling:

"Are we _that_ desperate?"

Thirty-One slammed him on the side of the head with a rod that was lying around on the floor. "Yes! That desperate!"

Thirty-Three continued to roll his bottle back and forth on the table. Forty, on the other hand, was scratching his head the best he could, his other claw still hidden.

"Oooh, oooh!" He suddenly burst in, the other servbots catching a flash of something pink. "I know!"

"Oh great," Thirty-Two grumbled, adding some consummate v's to his ferocious dragon. "I wonder what it is."

Forty did not catch that, fortunately, looking for a pair of the roundest whatevers he could find around the room. Eventually, a wad of paper and a little plastic hamster ball was set into the pink strap of curvy cloth. After some debate, the deactivated Gustaff made an acceptable pair of prongs. The servbots watched with interest.

"Check it!" Forty gloated, pulling back on the pink sling. "It's the _Double-Barreled-Boobie-Blaster!_"

The paper went nowhere while the hamster ball was launched across the room, ricocheting off the wall and to the desk, effectively knocking poor Thirty-Three's bottle away. The servbots collectively "ooh-"ed, except for Thirty-Three, who was scrambling to recover his poor bottle and saying things a servbot should not be saying underneath his little "breath." Forty bowed.

"Thank you! Thank you! No need for applause!"

"But," Thirty-One thoughtfully said, stroking his "chin." "Where did you get it from? Where can we get more of this... slingshot?"

"No no no!" corrected Forty. "It's a Double-Barreled-Boo-"

The servbots were startled when a red-faced Tron exploded into the room, her fingers squeezing into the doorframe as if they were claws.

"Alright!" she growled. "Someone was in my bra drawer this time! Where is my bra? I counted seventeen bras instead of eighteen! Someone fess up!" Her eyes darted around the room, Forty trying to shrink away but no avail. "_Number Forty_!"

"The Gustaff did it?" Forty cringed.

_**Fin**_


	8. Dogs

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**Fandom**: Megaman Legends 2  
**Title**: Dogs  
**Subject**: Tron vs. Roll  
**Wordcount**: 1,400-ish.  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Tron, Roll, the sane adults  
**Rating**: PG-13, I hope.  
**Notes**: Dramatic short story thing. Be warned: There is some character bashing on both ends, even though I happen to favor Tron more yet she still keeps on getting the short end of the stick. She's a Bonne. Crap happens.

* * *

"Ugh!" Roll cried. "You always want to use junk! Why don't you pick up some quality parts instead? Megaman might have actually had trouble with you." 

Tron's eye twitched. "Look! Does it look like I'm made of money?" After scooting some beads about, she shoved the abacus in Roll's face. "Look at this! These are the expenses if we do things your way!"

"Gah!" Roll jerked back. "Tron! That's really rude of you to do that!"

"That was for the Megaman—" Oh, she was blushing here. Embarrassing as it was in a time like this, it was easy to hide in her irritation. "—remark earlier! I was just helping you see the light since you _insist_ on using top-of-the-line parts for _every single thing!_"

"We might actually get a rocket that could get off the ground if we did not use those… those old car parts for the outer covering!" Roll crossed her arms. "I told you: they need to be adjusted every five minutes! You're impossible!"

"Aluminum! It was that with aluminum!" Tron shot back. "Oh, you're so spoiled by Megaman's income!"

In the background, an upset Data looked on. He would have intervened, like the many other times before, but it was pointless. They not only would never get along with one another but they would also never listen to him. Why! It was so simple! He knew it!

* * *

Dinner came. It was a small gathering, as the servbots ate separately from the humans, with the gang still cramped around the dining room table in the Flutter. Tron and Roll sat across from each other, glaring like hawks and chewing slowly, as if one was going to tear out the other's throat should they make a false move. Teisel, Barrel and Bluecher did not say much however, as they were girls and the tension was only a girl thing they could not comprehend. They were smart enough to keep out of their affairs, unless it became really ugly, of course.

The girls remained long after the men had finished and puttered off to the living room to converse about the day's events. Piercing green eyes still were locked onto piercing green eyes.

"Staring is rude," Tron finally said, looking away to idly probe her fork into her cold pile of mush. She forgot what it was that they were eating.

"You started it," Roll grumbled. "And you're wasting food."

Tron gave her a mocking cock-eyed look. "Oh come on. My servbots can cook better than this pig slop. But don't feel too bad: I expect no more from someone that lives in a barn."

"That's enough!" Roll's fork clanged as she stood up and threw it down. "I've had it up to here with you, Tron Bonne!"

"What? You want flattery? _Blatant flattery?_" Tron placed a hand on her cheek. "Oh my, Roll. I never knew, not even with all the things I assumed _Megaman **gave**_ you in _your **room**_."

Roll's hands were shaking. "Tron, stop it!"

"Make me, you floozy."

There was a clatter as Roll flung herself over the table in blind anger towards the pirate's throat. Now, it was strange, as she previously never thought of herself as the kind to reach this point of rage, but never has she ever felt so angry, so vehement, towards this _one_ girl. This one little thorn in her side that would never _go away_!

Tron backed up, watching the messy Roll get to her feet for another lunge. "What's your problem? Can't handle the truth, blondie? _Pig pig pig!_"

Tron continued chanting as she bounded away towards the kitchen. Suddenly, she was kissing the floor as Roll grabbed her ankle, throwing her off balance and to her tummy. Both of the girls were soon a mess of limbs, struggling and grunting on the floor. Roll quickly found that in her moment of snapping one very painful fact:

Tron was a subtly bigger and stronger girl than she was.

The pirate was slowly overpowering her. Roll, although a humble and sensible person at heart, had a sense of dignity and pride herself: she would not let this Bonne girl dare have an edge over her! In her deliberation, she, the table an arm's reach or so away, reached up, her fingers grazing table cloth.

"You can have your –ump- pigslop later!" Tron growled, trying to pull her hand away.

Roll's fingers still frantically searched. Fortunately, the men had not cleaned themselves up and left their plates there. Luck had smiled upon her when a bit of plastic was felt. Seconds before she let her arm give into Tron, she clung to the object on the table for life.

Tron saw the object's glint. "A knife? What are you doing?"

Roll's eyes widened. So that was what she got? She only meant to fling scraps at her, to mess up her oh-so-pretty face. On second though, she could threaten her with the knife to get her to back down, to have some kind of power over her, although at the risk of looking like a psychopath. Well, it was probably the only language a lowly pirate like Tron understood after all, right?

Here goes nothing.

"I'm going to stab you!" The words came out funny. Not like she was a serial killer anyway.

Tron paused and stared. Soon, she was laughing that arrogant, little laugh of hers. "Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho! You're a riot, Roll! Knives aren't for children. Give me that!"

From there, the girls proceeded to struggle with the knife. Roll was scared now, wishing that she had never gone for the table in the first place. Eventually, though, they stupidly rolling about in their continued struggle, the knife snagged onto something. Tron made a sort of airy wheeze, Roll releasing the now stuck handle, and stopped moving. She became limp and, Roll getting to her knees, was easily shoved away. The pirate remained on her side in a pseudo-fetal position, her arm hiding her belly.

"Tron?" Roll felt sick; she knew what had happened. Slowly, avoiding the glazed look in Tron's eyes as she gasped like a fish from shock, she pulled away the arm, finding the handle of the knife protruding from the pirate's stomach.

"You murderer," Tron hissed and huffed. "If I die, I'll come back and haunt you."

"I didn't mean to!" Roll would have continued, but she soon caught the sound of heavy footsteps. Her heart sunk and her stomach made ominous, fluttering contortions.

"What's going on here?" It was Barrel.

"I knew leaving my _dear _sister **all **alone with her was a _terrible _idea!" That had to be Teisel; his whine was unmistakable.

"I thought they were getting along," sighed Bluecher.

Before long, Roll found herself looking up into the wide eyes of three very shocked men. Or two; Teisel was already on his knees at his sister, pleading and begging and crying. His hands shook as he tenderly grabbed the knife's handle, sniffling and pulling away when Tron grimaced. Barrel joined Teisel, although not in the emotional explosion. His analysis of the wound was quick.

"Get a towel ready," the old man grunted. "She'll live; it's a little one. Now, I'm going to pull it out on a count of three…"

* * *

_Knock, knock._

Tron looked up. She had been resting for a few days now. It was strange, sleeping in Megaman's bed in his room, feeling the puncture wound glow red with every bitter thought about Roll.

"You may come in." Her fingers subconsciously fiddled with the bandages around her gut. It was painful to sit up, although she did not want to being in only in her panties and bra (_Perverts_, she thought).

Roll slowly opened the door, enough to peek in. Tron made a nasty face.

"Please," she started. "Don't tell me to go away this time. I've been trying to tell you for the last few days now."

"I don't want to hear it or see your dirty, back-stabbing, piggy face! Go away!"

Roll frowned; living with the guilt, although accidental, had not been easy. "Tron... Listen."

"**_Go away!_**" Tron tried to sit up at full height, although every bit of tension in her abdominals made her squeal in pain. She had to slide back down to propping her shoulders against to wall for support.

"I'm sorry, Tron!" Roll gave up again and disappeared, the door slamming.

Tron finished her slide back into the bed. She buried her face in her pillow, his pillow. The faint, dreamy smell of Megaman (Who else could it be?) in the covers was enough for her to forget about the pain. Forget Roll and her hollow, ditzy, _thoughtless_ words; this was all she needed.

_**  
**_

_**Fin**_


	9. Charity

  
**

* * *

**

**Fandom**: Megaman Legends  
**Title**: Charity  
**Subject**: Something Winter Based or Something I Wrote Because I Was Scared, Anxious and Having Some Really Bad Stress Issues. Yes, this is a stress one-shot. That's right. This is a short one-shot.  
**Wordcount**: 1,550ish. Ugh.  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Tron - Yep, Tron is the only canon here! Go Tron!  
**Rating**: PG  
**Notes**: I am the world's biggest liar because I can never write about cute kittens and happy or make a short drabble. Plus, the inspiration for this came from a story in a collection. I am not going to say of what because that would spoil things. (Let's not forget the tiny pinch of Ray Bradbury's "The Illustrated Man.") Part of this also comes from the fact that my early childhood, about first grade to sixth, was daycare and school, from 6-7 in the morning to, in some instances, almost 6 at night.

* * *

Tron Bonne was led inside the children's home, still bitter about everything that had happened before. After being caught, for once, by the police after a botched up heist, the higher-ups figured that it would be best, especially around Christmas time, that the girl served her community hours with children. Now, she was inside this musty, old building that smelled of spit and urine, the walls bright with pictures of teddy bears and blocks pasted on them and its halls forever doomed to be noisy with the cries and shouts of kids. 

"My servbots are more disciplined than these brats," she hissed under her breath as the caretaker pulled her through the aisle past the play areas.

When they reached a door in a rather lonely hall, the walls there a sickly yellow, the caretaker announced: "Alright, Tron, we're here. I'm sure you and Tabitha will get along just fine. We would let her play with the other children but she's different, you understand?" She was rambling now. "Don't worry too much though. She's a sweetie."

_ Don't they all say that?_ Tron thought to herself with a wrinkled nose. That woman had bad breath.

In the room behind the door, a small girl sat on a pile of cushions, quietly thumbing through a picture book. Oddly enough, she did not look up as they stepped inside. The hairs on the back of Tron's neck pricked up, she sensing something odd in the air.

"Tabitha!" called the caretaker. "You have a new friend! Meet Tron! Say 'hi' to Tron!"

Now, she was glancing at them, her eyes shining. Not a word was said.

The caretaker released Tron's hand and beamed. "Alright, I'll be back in an hour to check up on you two. Don't get too imaginative, Tabitha, alright?"

_ Too imaginative?_ Tron turned back around to ask what the caretaker had meant but the door had shut. She seemed to be in a hurry. How come?

"Hi, Tron-lady. It's Christmas," Tabitha smiled. Her voice was calm. "Do you like Christmas?"

Tron slowly faced her, crossed her arms and looked down on her. "One, I'm only fourteen. Please call me Tron, got it? Two, I don't like Christmas when I spend it serving community hours."

"You did something bad?" The girl frowned.

Tron shrugged. Reluctantly, she took a seat near Tabitha on the cushions, which made the little girl smile. "People say so. I don't like it myself but we don't have any other choice."

The girl shoved away her picture book and pulled herself next to the pirate. Those strange, dark eyes were looking up at her. "Wanna' play a game?"

Tron made an odd face at the seemingly random request. "A game?"

"Games make me happy," Tabitha giggled.

Tron glanced around the room at the numerous shelves and whatnot, looking for the board games. There were a few and all of them looked like a waste of her time. "What do you want to play?"

"Safari!"

"I never heard of that one before." Tron scratched at the back of her head, trying to recall every board game commercial she had ever seen. Must have been some stupid children's game. Great.

"It's easy. You're the hunter and I'm the lion. I hide and you're supposed to find me."

"You mean 'Hide and Go Seek!'" Tron snorted.

"No!" Tabitha shook her head. "This is 'Safari!'"

Well, Tron was lost. Before she could say anything more, Tabitha seized Tron's hand with a surprisingly strong grip, tugging her to her feet in the direction of an unused baby crib.

"This is your safari car," she announced.

Tron blinked a bit, unable to create a large, cumbersome, all-terrain vehicle from the stained covers pale with dust. "Um, okay."

"What's wrong?"

Tron looked down at Tabitha, as she had apparently noticed her doubt. The pirate managed a (false) smile at her, feeling a little guilty.

Fine, this old crib ready to fall apart at any moment was a big lug of a tank. Got it.

"I'm alright," she said aloud. Trying to muster up the enthusiasm was difficult. "I never played before, that's all. Do I count to ten?"

"Okay." Tabitha nodded. "I go hide. Then you look for me. Okay okay?"

With a nod, Tron turned to the crib, rested her arms against the bars and hunched over, covering her eyes and counting down. It was becoming hard to concentrate, she hot and beginning to sweat. Come to think of it, the room felt strangely warm, especially on the back of her head where the sun was beating down.

Wait a second... _Sun?_

She was on five when she jerked up, finding herself praying on the steps of a massive tank. It looked exactly just like the one her imagination had formed prior.

"What the?"

Tron frantically looked around the room, finding the African veldt instead. Of course, she had no idea what an Africa was but she very much knew that something was going on.

"Tabitha?" Tron called, carefully approaching the tall grass. She felt weighed down, especially on her back. Stopping for a moment and reaching around, she found a large, long and very primitive gun. It was double-barreled with a flared end and loaded. Even worse, her outfit was brown and tacky. Her lovely black and pink motif was nowhere to be seen, just these bland khakis, earth colors and more pockets than she really needed. Bleh!

Once over her appearance, she approached the grass, the oversized gun in hand (or really, hands as the thing was not only with a strap tearing up her shoulders but weighed at least a zillion pounds). Once several feet into the waist-high overgrown mess, she peered again, trying to find Tabitha. In the distance, tall, long-necked deer creatures with funny, brown spots nibbled at umbrella-like trees. What were they called again?

Suddenly, Tron smiled and laughed.

She had to see the machinery, the hologram work, behind all this! It was amazing, how it projected these ugly clothes onto her and how she could feel the weight of her gun, how it made everything so real and perfect! It was like she was magically was teleported into this strange hot, grassy place on one of the large islands along the equator of Terra without ever stepping onto an airship to get there!

Before Tron could admire the hologram work any further, she heard a deep growl that made her skin crawl. Yet again, a hologram could never hurt anyone, right?

"_**Hoooaaar**_!"

A flash of tawny brown exploded from the cover of the grass and slammed into Tron from the front. It was soon on top of her, pinning her to the ground with a massive paw. Coughing and gasping after having the wind knocked out of her, Tron could smell the creature's hot breath as it panted and peered down at her from over its short, heavy muzzle. Her eyes never left its teeth.

Her gun!

Tron suddenly realized, as the creature, a full-grown and quite hungry lioness, brought back its paw for the killing blow, that her hands were empty. Just a few feet away, there was a flash of dull gray. The stupid strap to the gun had broke.

Tron made a face: Today was not her day. Why was she the one stuck with all the bad luck with animals?

Oh yeah. There was a hungry lioness on top of her.

Screaming, Tron struggled in the beast's grip, jerking to the side when the paw swiped. She winced from the fiery pain in her shoulder as those ridiculously long, razor-sharp claws raked across. Her chest began to burn from where the other paw was pinning her down, pressing down harder and harder.

_ Fine! You win!_

Swallowing her pride, Tron ceased and held still, knowing it was the end. She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe that was what it took to end this stupid hologram? Still, she could feel the lioness' bringing its teeth to her neck, feeling its whiskers, smelling its breath. Then-

"Tron?"

Tron's eyes shot open. There was Tabitha, playfully sprawled out on her chest as if she were her mother. The veldt was gone. The room was freezing. Her clothes were stylish. Again, everything smelled like animal crackers and spit and dust. Tron's breathing was still shallow.

"Tron-lady, please get better!" Tabitha lightly slapped at her cheek and pulled at an earring. "I won. You give up too easily."

Tron continued to gasp and pant and hyperventilate, her eyes wide regardless; yes but were the lions and grasslands gone for _good_? She was ready to have a heart attack.

Tabitha rolled off Tron and sat next to her, her small, round face filling the spooked pirate's vision. "They always do that when I win. That's why I ask to play 'Safari' first because it's my favorite game. They say okay then they don't want to play it again!"

Tron shuddered. Oh _hell_, she could see why, hologram or not! Her chest still felt as if something had been pressing down on it. Even more so, when she shakily pulled herself up to a cross-legged sit, she felt her right shoulder burn red when she huddled up.

Tabitha gave her a funny look as she watched Tron almost rip off her jacket, finding four crimson lines running across her upper arm.

**_Fin_**


	10. 71st Century Schizoid Man

**

* * *

**  
**Fandom**: Megaman Legends  
**Title**: 71st Century Schizoid Man  
**Subject**: The Quest for the PERFECT CANDY CANE!  
**Wordcount**: 394... Trying to overcome the curse of the long drabble...  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Teisel  
**Rating**: G for Gee, what was that?  
**Notes**: Whoa. This one I find a little weak but okay. I wasted a title based off one of the best songs **_EVAR _**on this too. Bleh!

* * *

Teisel Bonne had been reclining in his favorite spot on the couch in his room, watching whatever Christmas sap they would put on. It would usually make him cry, thus whipping out the conveniently stored box of tissues shoved beneath the couch in an attempt to clean up the mess as quickly as possible so that no one would catch him, a full grown _man_, in the womanly act of crying from a movie. That was something he could picture Tron doing, although she never had and preferred something with a bit of teeth and blood to it (which Teisel found odd). 

Anyway, the television: Right now, there was an old remake of the ancient story, "He Had a Terrific Living." Apparently, the story was so old that they could not figure out the real title (which given the story's present time compared to the author's, there was a gap of about a good five thousand or so years that allowed for plenty of mangling from Point A to Point B). So far his virility had been holding up well. His past record with this flick had not been so hot, so he decided to commemorate the moment with a candy cane from his little holiday mug on the floor.

Or was going to. _This perfect moment could not be remembered with a broken little mess in a plastic wrapper!_ After several candy canes, all of them looking more like J-shaped containers of powder, Teisel was storming to the deck.

* * *

A huddled figure staggered inside the building, the rags whipping about his feet from the harsh mountaintop winds that slipped in. He looked worse for the wear, tired.

The employee at the register, whose tag marked him as "Bob," gave the stranger an odd look. "Um, hello, sir. Welcome to Auntie Grace's Sweetshack. The clothing store outlet is nearby."

Here, the tattered rags fell off from the stranger, revealing his out of place green armor and his face beaming. "Why, hello! I've been looking for a few candy canes that aren't broken? You know, the _perfect ones_! The ones that you want when you have this certain special event, right? Right? Those over there look good. Or even the ones there. Or even that on the wall, yes. Yes! How perfect! How _excellent_! How much? Name your price!"

_ I don't get paid enough,_ Bob frowned.

_**Fin**_


	11. Surprise!

**

* * *

**  
**Fandom**: Megaman Legends  
**Title**: Surprise!  
**Subject**: The Reaverbots' Day Off  
**Wordcount**: 354. OH NOES.  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Trigger, insignificant amount of Roll  
**Rating**: G  
**Notes**: Getting better, FG. Much better... Now we're getting back to your weird non-dramatic roots...

* * *

"Megaman!" The transmission crackled, Roll's voice seeping through muddled and warped. "Be… ful down… okay?" 

This did not sit well in Megaman's gut. He stopped at a large door, the usual (for he had been digging for so long and felt as if he had seen everything) techno smatter tracing it. "Roll! I'm losing you!"

"Wh… man?"

"Roll!"

Static. The transmission went dead.

Great.

With a sigh, Megaman turned his attention back to the door before him. Who knows what was on the other side? His track record with ominous doors deep in some ruin had not been so hot: large reaverbot behind the door, large pirate behind the door, large robotic thing that was not a reaverbot hell-bent on killing him for some unknown reason behind the door…

But he was still alive. That had to account for something given his fame as a digger and apparent notoriety.

Megaman briefly checked his buster, giving it a once over and maybe a test firing or two, before sucking it all in and fiddling with the door controls. No keycard or something needed. Good enough. He cautiously entered the dark room.

Okay, correction: somewhat dark. There was a dim hanging light swinging about nearby, surrounded by…_reaverbots?_

"Hey, hey!" a tinny voice growled.

Megaman's eyes went wide, dumbfounded. "W-wait! You things can _talk_?"

"Yeah, we can talk," a reaverbot snapped. Megaman quickly recognized it as one of the occasional "spider monkeys" that would hang from the ceiling and pummel him with bombs. "Now, please. Can you let us play our game in peace? Sheesh."

Megaman's eyes were completely adjusted at this point, he now seeing the turf green table the sentry robots surrounded. All of them had small pincer-like devices protruding from the upper portion of their body clamping on a fan of cards.

Wait a moment…

"We're on break, kid!" another reaverbot snorted. "You can shoot us and stuff later."

"I wouldn't mind, actually" sighed a giant, dog-like one that sounded alarmingly too gentlemanly. "The zakobon is bloody beatin' me!"

The little zakobon giggled as the dog slammed his "paw" on the table in frustration.

_**Fin**_


	12. Really Thrifty There

**Fandom**: The Misadventures of Tron Bonne  
**Title**: Really Thrifty There  
**Subject**: Forbidden Treasure  
**Wordcount**: 465, but it's this way to be followable and not abrupt yet brief. Excuse excuse.  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Tron and the Servbots  
**Rating**: G  
**Notes**: Robert Ripley is my forgotten idol, even though the TV show the museums spawned royally sucked compared to Guinness. Or was it Guinness that sucked? I forgot. The battle of extremes was so long ago so my memory is crap.

But, gee, this one is disgusting but still makes me smile.

* * *

Tron stepped out from the Gesellschaft's hatch to the deck, observing the lovely sunrise painting the sky. She was not the one to be satisfied by smashing her face against one of the small, circular windows in the midlevels and today, as boring as the endless, stretching sea was, felt different: it was a time to savor this beginning before shoving off to the usual work routine. 

She stopped seizing the day when she noticed Number Fifteen, who was innocently jogging around the inner perimeter of the deck: he was wearing the worst sweater ever. Hotly, she approached him; if any of the servbots were buying things from behind her back, they would never hear the end of it.

"Number Fifteen!"

The servbot, taking immediate note of the tone, froze and turned towards her in attention. "Yes, Miss Tron?"

"Where did you get that hideous sweater?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Number Four made it for me." Fifteen pulled at the bottom of the sweater. "It's a little itchy but it's nice being able to jog on cold mornings!"

Tron sniffed and, soon enough, was storming about in search of him, the scratchy sweater in hand. The yarn it was made with was odd; its colors ugly with white entwined with a familiar brown.

"Number Four!"

Number Four jolted up from his early morning duties of taking inventory in the Storage Room, finding Tron storming inside and towering over him.

"Y-yes, Miss Tron?" He cowered in her shadow.

"Where did you get the tacky," – here, Tron waved the sweater in his face- "Ugh, yarn to make this thing?"

"Oh! You mean the sweater I made for Fifteen?" the servbot gulped. "From here."

Tron blinked. "From here?"

"Yep! I saw Eighteen clean and pull the hair out from your brush and I remember watching this thing on TV with this lady making yarn out of dog hair and I was bored and was curious so I-"

"_Eyuck!_" Tron made a face. "This thing is made from _**MY HAIR**_"

"And Teisel's," Four sagely added, perking up.

"**_That's disgusting!_**" Tron stuck out her tongue and threw the sweater at Four. "Don't take hair from my brush and make things with it _ever again!_"

Watching Tron stomp out of the room, her morning ruined, Four sighed and paused his previous task for a moment, taking the sweater and heading back to the deck. Surprisingly (and conveniently), Number Fifteen was just outside the door.

"You can have this back." Four offered the sweater.

Fifteen smiled, or tried to, and took it. "Thanks! I heard Miss Tron doesn't like it but I do."

"I thought she told us to do things to help save money." Four shook his head. "Between you and me: Miss Tron can be _so _fickle!"

**_Fin_**


	13. Perfect Imitation

**

* * *

**

**Fandom**: Megaman Legends 2  
**Title**: Perfect Imitation  
**Subject**: Things  
** Word count**: 370 – In the thread, there had been a lot of short drabbles. My long drabble curse still continues.  
**Pairing**: N/A  
**Characters**: Megaman, Roll and a special guest  
**Rating**: P-13  
**Notes**: _Se til helvete å kom dere vekk! Det er ikke en bikkje! Det er en slags ting! Den imiterer en bikkje! Den er ikke virkelig! Kom dere vekk idioter!_

Yeah, this is a crossover/tribute, and I tend to hate most crossovers, but who the hell knows what else is on Forbidden Island? And who knows who else has been there. The Legends 2 manual talks about the Sulphur Bottom being all "Hey ho! Let's go!" since it was seemingly the first to the place (first widespread expedition, maybe) but THEN we get that plot about Barrel and buddies' previous exploits.

**CAPCOM **- _We never bother with continuity in the manuals! The kids lose'em anyway. Ook ook!_

On a final note, Roll might be off; that girl is so sweet. Does she ever joke around? Oh well. Either way, she can have a smartass line here.

* * *

In one of the Sulphur Bottom's elegant guest rooms, Megaman smiled as he scratched the poor dog behind the ears. They had found it outside in the cold near the shores of the Forbidden Island, apparently the sole survivor of an unannounced failed expedition. The animal wriggled in his grip to lick at his armored fingers and whine. 

"I wish we could keep it," he sighed as Roll was leaving the room.

She stopped in the doorway and leaned against it. From there, facing the two, she titled her head, carefully eyeing the dog. "I don't know, Megaman. It's one of those snow dogs. I don't think the Flutter would be the best place for it. They need a big space to run around in and our deck is not the largest."

Megaman frowned and rubbed the thick mess of fur on its neck. "I guess. I've always wanted a dog. Cats are boring."

"Hey! Cats are clean!" Roll retorted. "I remember how many you brought home while we were at Kattelox!"

Megaman's voice became low. "I thought you liked them."

"I do!" Roll crossed her arms and gave him an almost sly smile. "But _fourteen?_"

"I thought you liked them _a lot._"

"Yeah, and _you_liked them enough to try to find homes for each of them when Gramps had an allergic fit." Roll then relaxed her pose against the frame. "I'm going to go check up on the Flutter. Have fun with the dog, Mr. Fourteen-Cats."

Megaman rolled his eyes as Roll took her leave. The seemingly oblivious dog sat on the floor, "smiling," wagging its tail in contentment.

"_Mr. Fourteen-Cats?_" he mumbled. "That's a new one."

Suddenly, the dog jerked forward, violently shaking with a glazed, displaced look in its eye. Megaman jumped away, but then, as the animal trembled, drew closer, trying to find out what was wrong with it. Was it scared? Did he touch some hidden injury underneath all that fur?

A small amount of blood oozed out from the animal's facial orifices before, like a furry, fleshy banana peel, its entire head split open. In place of its skull and neck vertebrae, a slimy tentacle writhed about, lengthening and squirming towards Megaman.

_Fin_


End file.
